


Operation Ho-Ho-Ho

by Sk8er_Chica



Category: The Shield (TV)
Genre: Christmas Party, Gen, Grinch References, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sk8er_Chica/pseuds/Sk8er_Chica
Summary: To rehabilitate their image, the Strike Team is shanghai'd into spending an afternoon playing Santa and his helpers.





	

Shane leaned in with his shoulder as he opened the clubhouse door and heard a dull thud from the other side. He walked down the hall and used the other entrance. Inside, he found Lem holding a hand over his nose, blood running from between his fingers. A string of Christmas lights was pooled on the floor by his feet.

“What the hell happened to you?” asked Shane.

“You smashed me in the face with the door!” Lem said thickly.

“Well, why the hell were you standin’ behind it?” Shane scanned the room. “Jesus, it looks like Martha Stewart threw up in here. And who put tinsel on my goddamn locker?”

Lem didn’t answer; he’d left in search of some tissues or paper towels. Claudette looked up from her coffee and was greeted by the sight of her colleague with blood dripping from his nose. She motioned Lem over, retrieving a box of tissues she kept in her desk for the distraught victims and family members she interviewed.

“What happened to you, son?” she wanted to know.

“Ask Shane.” Before Claudette could get the idea of telling Aceveda, he added quickly, “It’s no big deal. I don’t think it’s broken or anything. Thanks for the tissues.”

Lem went back to the clubhouse. He resumed lining the room with Christmas lights one-handed, using the other to pinch his nose. Shane didn’t offer to help. After the lights were up, Lem tuned the stereo to an all-Christmas radio station. He started to whistle along with Bruce Springsteen’s rendition of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” Shane rolled his eyes.

“Dude, why do you hate Christmas?” said Lem, sitting down and putting his feet up on the table.

“Ah do not hate Christmas!” Shane argued. “Ah just hate standin’ in line for five hours at the mall to buy presents. Ah hate those bell-ringers outside every goddamn store. Ah hate bein’ put on security detail when parents start beatin’ the shit out of each other over the last Pokeman or Furbot or whatever the kids whine for this year. Ah even hate _It’s A Wonderful Life.”_

“What about goin’ caroling and drinkin’ hot chocolate?” asked Lem.

“Ah hate singing. And hot chocolate? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in fucking Los Angeles.”

“I can’t believe you’re such a Grinch.” Lem said half under his breath.

“Who’s a Grinch?” asked Ronnie, coming in. He noticed the light-up Santa on the bookshelf, wedged between a couple of their department softball trophies. “Hmm, didn’t even know we had this.”

He sat down next to Lem and the two of them started a game of pitch.

Vic arrived about ten minutes later, carrying a large Tupperware box. “It’s that time of year again, boys,” he greeted. He set the box on the table and removed the lid. “Made a few dozen extra cookies for the kids’ class parties.”

Lem grinned and his eyes lit up. “All right! Breakfast time!”

But instead of reaching for the box, Lem jumped out of his chair. He returned within a minute with a paper cup and the half-gallon of chocolate milk from the breakroom fridge.

“What?” he said when he saw his teammates’ expressions. “Can’t have cookies without milk.”

Lem sat back down and checked out the offerings. Corinne and Cassidy had outdone themselves this year: peanut butter drops with Hershey’s Kisses on top, sugar cookies, chocolate chip, snickerdoodles, and gingerbread men. Not wanting to miss out, he took one of everything.

“Oh, and this is for you,” said Vic, passing him a piece of green construction paper.

It was a drawing of a man with spiky yellow hair standing next to a Christmas tree. In beginner cursive were the words MERRY CHRISTMAS, UNCLE LEM. LOVE, CASSIDY. Lem smiled; Vic’s oldest was such a sweet kid. Shane had a card too and seemed to have softened just a little.

Suddenly, the Strike Team realized Captain Aceveda was standing in the clubhouse doorway. His presence was never a good sign. Neither was the huge cardboard box on his hip.

Vic never let anyone see him sweat, so he said casually, “Morning, Cap. Have a cookie. Breakfast of champions, just ask Lem.”

Aceveda carefully selected a chocolate chip cookie, then said, “This isn’t just a social call. As you’re all well aware, there have been some serious image problems regarding the Strike Team. Accusations of brutality, evidence tampering, even stealing drugs.”

Oh, it would be just typical for Aceveda to fire four people right before Christmas. Vic began to formulate a way to tell Corinne.

“However, I don’t think it’s anything that can’t be countered with some good publicity,” Aceveda went on. “That’s why I handpicked you all for a very special assignment.”

“What? Handing out soup to the bums on the sidewalk?” asked Shane.

Aceveda shook his head. “The Farmington Boys and Girls Club hosts an annual Christmas party for underprivileged children. Santa makes an appearance to hand out gifts. Unfortunately, Santa and his helpers all called in sick at the last minute. Vic, you’re a father; you know how disappointed these kids would be if Santa didn’t come. And you’re a good leader. I’m sure you can make sure your helpers conduct themselves in a manner becoming the department and the Strike Team.”

Silence followed this speech, which they were all sure Aceveda had extensively rehearsed.

“When is this Christmas party?” asked Vic.

“This afternoon. 1:00 sharp,” said Aceveda with a shark’s smile. He set the cardboard box on the couch. “All your supplies are in here.”

Once Aceveda was safely out of the room, Shane said, “This is a joke, right? We’ve got more important shit to do than entertain a buncha screaming brats.”

“Nope, not a joke,” Ronnie reported, opening the box and holding up a Santa hat.

Lem finished his last cookie and joined him in poking through the box. Finding an elf hat decorated with jingle bells, he said, “I call dibs.”

There was a matching one-size-fits-all, red-and-green tunic. Ronnie handed Vic the pieces of a Santa suit.

“This is cool,” he said when he discovered a battery-operated red nose.

“ _Ronnie the red-nosed reindeer,_ ” Lem sang.

“Aw, is that all the costumes? I just _hate_ to miss out on makin’ a complete jackass outta myself,” said Shane.

“Not quite,” said Ronnie, passing him an elf hat and tunic.

“Ah am not gonna be a goddamn elf,” Shane said flatly.

“Oh yes, you are,” Vic disagreed. “You’re a big reason we’re on the shit list. Or did you forget about getting our truck stolen?”

Shane scowled.

When 1:00 drew near, the Strike Team loaded themselves and their costumes into their van. (No way was Vic driving across town dressed as Santa). They parked behind the club and started getting ready. Ronnie had the easiest time of it, only needing antlers and the red nose. Lem heard a ripping sound as he pulled the elf tunic over his head. One-size-fits-all was no match for his six-foot-plus frame; he’d popped out both shoulder seams.

“Good thing I’m already wearing red,” Lem chuckled.

“I look so fucking stupid,” Shane griped.

“C’mon, man, it’s for a good cause,” said Lem.

“Yeah, keeping Aceveda off our asses, at least until New Year’s,” Vic put in, adjusting his fake beard.

A college-aged volunteer emerged from the back door of the Boys and Girls Club. She thanked them profusely for filling in on such short notice, then explained the gift situation. The kids had filled out wish lists and items were donated by people in the community, much like the Salvation Army’s Angel Tree program. Each present had a tag, so Santa and his elves would have to remember to ask each child their name. She handed Lem and Shane each a box of miniature candy canes; every kid was to get one of those too.

Inside the club, the air was thick with the smell of pizza; also on the snack table were Oreos and storebought sugar cookies. An oversized chair sat next to a Christmas tree with presents piled beneath it. This being an Aceveda project, a newspaper photographer was on hand. Shane froze in his tracks. The atmosphere became electric when the kids realized who had just wandered into their midst.

“Ho-ho-ho!” Vic boomed. “Merry Christmas, kids!”

The volunteers herded the kids into a single-file line to meet Santa and receive their presents. The first was a little boy about Matt’s age.

“Ho-ho-ho! What’s your name?” asked Vic.

“Ernesto,” the kid mumbled shyly.

Lem and Shane checked under the tree, then gave Vic the appropriate box with a cheerful “Merry Christmas.” A volunteer took a Polaroid of Ernesto, Santa, and his helpers. Ernesto mumbled a thank you and gave Vic an Oreo. 

Vic had just started to greet the next child when she interrupted, pointing at Lem and asking, “Who’s he?”

“That’s…” Vic was about to fumble around for an elf name when he realized it was obvious. “That’s my elf, Lemonhead.”

The girl eyed Lem. “He’s too big to be an elf.”

“I drank a lot of milk when I was a kid,” Lem replied.

“That’s right,” Vic agreed. “Made him grow up big and strong.”

“And who’s he?” She pointed at Shane, who was around the other side of the tree in hopes of hiding from the newspaper photographer.

“That’s my other elf, Jethro. He’s a little shy.” Vic explained.

Before departing with her gift, the little girl gave Vic a sugar cookie. Things were relatively calm until the first five or ten kids went through the line. The room filled with the sounds of ripping paper, excited shrieks, and cries of “Look what Santa gave me!”

Shane was developing a headache and grumbled, “Ah swear Ah will blow every one of you little shits away if I hear any more goddamn screaming.”

The nearest child gasped, “That elf said a bad word!”

“Damn right this elf did! And this elf is gonna do a lot worse if y’all don’t shut the hell up!”

“Easy, Jethro,” Vic hissed. The last thing any of them needed was for Aceveda to find out one of Santa’s jolly helpers had been cussing out small children. To the child on his lap, he groaned, “Santa can’t eat anymore cookies.”

“I’ll take ‘em, boss,” Lem said cheerfully, his palm out. “I could go for a snack.”

“Yer always havin’ a snack,” said Shane, rolling his eyes.

In less than an hour, every child had been given a present, a candy cane, and a picture of themselves with Santa. The volunteers took a group photo with Santa and his helpers. The director of the club hugged the entire Strike Team, thanking them for helping give the kids a fun Christmas.

“What do you say to Santa and Lemonhead and Jethro and Ronnie?” asked the director.

“Thank you!” chorused the children.

Out of nowhere, one of them ran up and hugged Shane. That started a chain reaction; everyone wanted to hug the visitors from the North Pole goodbye. As they left, Shane kept his head down so nobody would see him grinning like an idiot.

**THE END**


End file.
